


Dear hope, if you can hear me don’t go

by makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post episode 171, Pre-Relationship, hand-holding, soft soft soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: He supposes it would be a shame if Zolf kneweverythingabout him. Then there would be nothing to reveal over late night drinks and early-morning cuddles. It’s probably good for their continued ease of interaction that Zolf isn't aware of quite howgoneOscar is for him already. But sometimes, he wishes—.“What’s going on in that head of yours Wilde?”
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 18
Kudos: 96





	Dear hope, if you can hear me don’t go

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a soft little indulgence from me after the latest episode (171) which was such a complete joy of an episode that my cheeks hurt from smiling for at least fifteen minutes afterwards.
> 
> But I couldn't not take the chance to make it little a more Zoscar, as a treat.

The party is starting to wind down a little when Zolf finally makes his way over to the bar alone. It’s the most quietly pleased and relaxed that Oscar’s seen him in some time, even as he awkwardly hikes up his borrowed trousers.

(That Oscar designed the bar to sit at the perfect height for Zolf to be able to lean on is neither here nor there and nothing he will ever confirm.)

“You did good with all this.” He says, voice pitched all low and fond in that way that Oscar’s missed, since they left Japan. Since long before they all last had time to breathe. 

“So you said.” Oscar hums, dragging a barrel across so that he can perch on it, arranging his costume to fall artfully in this new position. “But I do appreciate hearing it, nonetheless.”

Zolf smiles, looking across the deck at everyone starting to slot into smaller groups or head to bed. They watch together as the band finally disperses too, their arms having long since grown too tired to keep a good rhythm.

“Oh.” Zolf says. “And here I was going to ask you to dance.”

“You were not!” Oscar laughs, watching with delight as Zolf grins, unrepentant. “You will _never_ convince me of that.”

“Not with everyone else here maybe.”

It makes his heart do a silly little skip in his chest to imagine dancing with Zolf, even if it would be an entirely ludicrous affair at the moment; him in his stylish yet unwieldy costume, and Zolf liable to trip over in Barnes’ trousers. 

“You know I’ll always make time for a private dance, Mr Smith.” He says. “You just have to ask.”

Zolf huffs, emptying his glass and clearly fighting the urge to shoot something back if his pursed lips are any indication. The silence that falls around them is as pleasant as it always is, but fills Oscar with a sort of concern that Zolf will take it as a moment to make a little quip and leave, as he has displayed such fondness for recently.

“It strikes me that there’s some sort of kismet in our chosen outfits, Zolf.” Oscar hums, leaning forward and engaging his attention once more ( _oh he is a weak, weak man_ ). “You, a naval Commander. Me, a boat adrift in need of a strong hand.”

“Ship.” Zolf corrects, but it’s half-hearted. “And you’ve never been adrift a day in your life.”

Oh. Well, he supposes it would be a shame if Zolf knew _everything_ about him. Then there would be nothing to reveal over late night drinks and early-morning cuddles. It’s probably good for their continued ease of interaction that Zolf isn’t aware of quite how _gone_ Oscar is for him already. But sometimes, he wishes—.

“What’s going on in that head of yours Wilde?”

Zolf smiles at him now in that way that he used to, late at night over a shared drink in the kitchen of the inn. His barriers lowered, his eyes soft. The way that makes Oscar feel like his little fanciful imaginings are not quite so far off the mark.

“Oh nothing of great import.” He says, smoothing his palms over the bar and contemplating whether another drink will make things better or worse. “Simply imagining how fetching you must have looked in your uniform.”

“Too bad I don’t still have it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry. I have a _very_ good imagination.”

There’s a lovely little tinge of pink that comes to Zolf’s cheeks after that, which Oscar knows can’t be explained away by alcohol or the chill wind. It makes him smirk, which causes Zolf to roll his eyes in turn. 

It’s effortless to reach out, encouraged, and cover Zolf’s hand with his own.

“Oscar.” Zolf says, suddenly very quiet and very serious. With a sharp inhale, he turns his hand over, tracking his fingertips over the inside of Oscar’s wrist.

Oscar shivers, and he _will_ blame it on the cold. 

“Might I interest you in another drink?” He blurts, because he’s not sure he knows what else Zolf is going to say and he doesn’t want to risk it ruining whatever moment they’re having.

“Give it a minute, yeah?” Zolf says, voice little more than a whisper, thumb linking over the side of Oscar’s hand. “There’s no rush.”

“You’re right.” Oscar exhales slowly, fighting his face splitting into an embarrassingly wide smile. “No rush at all.”


End file.
